


Snow Day

by Fourthlinewinger



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Kuzy is a photojournalist, M/M, Mojo is a teacher, alternate universe: not hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-30 21:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourthlinewinger/pseuds/Fourthlinewinger
Summary: Snow days are the best days of winter.
Relationships: Marcus Johansson/Evgeny Kuznetsov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33
Collections: ALL CAPS Exchange 2019





	Snow Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghosthunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/gifts).

> Merry All Caps Exchange! I hope you enjoy your fic, Ghosthunter :)

“It’s a snow day!”

That was all the warning Marcus got before a large body leapt on top of him, knees pinning his hips and arms bracketing his head. Marcus had barely realized he was actually conscious before he was tackled. He cracked open one lead-lined eyelid to see a maniacally grinning face; he groaned and tried to roll over. 

Zhenya immediately dropped from his hands and knees to smother Marcus. “It’s after 9, sleepy, time to get up.” He pressed an obnoxious kiss on Marcus’ cheek. 

Marcus should probably appreciate Zhenya’s good mood, but— he scrambled underneath his pillow for his phone. “Nine? Fuck!” He flailed, attempting to shove Zhenya off him and get to his feet. “I’m late!”

Zhenya smacked him with a pillow. “Someone’s too tired to listen,” he teased. “I said, it is a snow day! I turned off your alarm like a nice husband, and now I’m going to make you tea, so you better get up and appreciate it!” The bed lurched as he rolled off and scampered away, slamming the bedroom door behind him. Marcus could hear him pounding down the hall.

In the quiet darkness of the bedroom, Marcus marshalled his thoughts into some sort of order as he checked the messages on his phone. Snow day. Tea. Indeterminate threats. Zhenya smiling down at him. Relief spread through him, and he rolled over, burying his face into the pillows. 

Last night had been rough. Zhenya had slept poorly, waking up from night terrors he wouldn’t speak of, and his strangled cries had woken Marcus. He’d given up trying to sleep around four-thirty, but Marcus had learned that it wouldn’t do any good to sacrifice his own rest on the altar of Zhenya’s nightmares. Marcus had hoped for an extra hour of sleep before he had to get ready for work. It looked like the snow gods had decided to be kind, and he felt almost rested. If Zhenya was making tea, it would take a few minutes for the water to boil. Marcus snuggled into the covers. He was going to spend them getting even more sleep.

He did make it downstairs before Zhenya had finished steeping the tea. Marcus wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes. “How much did it snow?” he asked as he slumped into a chair at the kitchen island. He was careful not to knock the turned-down photo frame off the counter. It was a shot even Zhenya had been proud of, but Zhenya hadn’t looked at any of his photographs since he’d come home last spring. He’d gone into his darkroom once, and he’d come out crying. His editor called once a week, but Sasha wasn’t pushing, either.

Zhenya set a mug in front of Marcus. “Just a little bit.” He spread his hands a couple of feet apart in front of him. “The power’s out in town, too, so teachers can stay home and help shovel the driveway.”

Marcus took a fortifying sip of tea. “We have a snowblower,” he pointed out, pushing away thoughts of photographs and war.

“And shovels,” Zhenya agreed easily.

Marcus snorted, spilling tea all over the counter. “Ugh,” he scrubbed at his face. “No, I can get it,” he protested, but didn’t make a move to help Zhenya grab the paper towels.

“No worries, love,” Zhenya said, wiping up the spill. “I know how it takes you a long time to wake up.”

Marcus didn’t need to see the smirk to know he was being teased. “Fuck you.”

Zhenya cackled as he rinsed out the sponge. “Finish your tea, snookums.”

Marcus flipped him off.

It was still a good morning.

* * *

It was beautiful out, freezing but only just, and the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. If they had waited much longer, the snow would have begun to melt and freeze into an annoying, icy blanket. Thankfully, it was just heavy and wet.

They weren’t the only ones clearing out their driveway, though most of the neighbors had dragged out their snowblowers. But Zhenya had pushed, and Marcus had caved, because it was good to see Zhenya wanting something. They went out with shovels and hand-warmers and started at opposite ends of the drive. When the first snowball smacked his shoulder, Marcus should have seen it coming.

“Really?” Marcus demanded, putting his hands on his hips. “Not even a little warning?”

His only reply was another snowball. He managed to dodge that one while glaring balefully at Zhenya.

“This means war!” Marcus hollered, ducking behind their car. He put his back to the door and snatched up a double handful of snow.

Zhenya let out a wordless war cry and sent more snowballs arcing through the air. Most of them thudded against the hood of the car, but he got one lucky shot that exploded against Marcus’ shoulder. Heavy snow slid into his collar. Marcus bit his tongue on a yelp to save Zhenya the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten hit and made a few more snowballs.

“Mar-cus!” Zhenya sang, circling around the car.

Marcus popped back up on his feet before Zhenya could come up behind him, arms full of hastily made snowballs. He charged.

“Not fair!” Zhenya cried as he was tackled into the snow and buried by enough snowballs to cover everything but the tip of his pink nose.

Marcus snickered, bopped him gently, and bounced to his feet to escape retribution. “Loser makes dinner!” He took off for the backyard.

Zhenya threw a snowball after him.

The thing about Zhenya, Marcus mused, was that as clever and sly as he was, he was also immensely impatient. He made six snowballs, grew bored of preparing his arsenal, and threw them all at once. Instead of waiting Marcus out and pelting him with snowballs from over the car, he came charging in. And now, instead of stopping to consider exactly what Marcus had planned, he was giving chase.

It might have been a long time since they’d played together, but Marcus still knew Zhenya’s weaknesses.

Marcus rounded the side of the house. “Ready!” he called out.

“Ready!” cried three young voices. André, Tommy, and Mike looked gleeful and like they’d spent the entire hour since Marcus had asked them (bribed them) for their help making snowballs. The grass poking through the snow around them supported that idea. They had filled up an entire sled.

“Блядь,” Zhenya said, too late, and was promptly pummelled with a dozen snowballs from the three enthusiastic eight year olds.

They had the best neighbors.

Marcus only had a moment to laugh before he came under attack, as well. “Hey!” he cried as he threw his arms up. “I thought we were a team!”

“It’s every man for himself!” Zhenya hollared.

Marcus did what any self-respecting middle-school social studies teacher would do: dove for the sled.

* * *

They ended up finishing the driveway in the fading afternoon sunlight, just as it started to snow again. Kuzy put a frozen pizza in the oven while Marcus tossed their wet clothes in the dryer. Exhausted, they dropped onto the couch in the living room to wait for dinner. Fresh snow started to fall outside, rendering their hard work obsolete.

“We snowblow in the morning,” Zhenya muttered, slipping an arm around Marcus’ shoulders.

“You can snowblow,” Marcus said, leaning into him and closing his eyes. “Some of us have real jobs.”

The silence stretched a moment too long. Every muscle in Marcus’ body tensed, and he realized what he had said. He sat up straight again. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

Zhenya blinked, lowering his phone. “It’s nothing bad,” he said quickly. “You just look nice.”

He had taken a picture. That was all. He wasn’t thinking about work or his lack of it or the requests to make a goddamned book about what he’d seen overseas. He had finally taken a picture.

Marcus cleared his throat. “Can I see?”

“It’s your picture,” Zhenya said wryly. He handed Marcus his phone.

Marcus looked at the screen. He didn’t quite agree that he looked nice. Pixel-Marcus looked sleepy but satisfied, somehow warm despite the cool light from the window. It was a good photograph, but that wasn’t surprising.The surprise was all the other photographs.

“You took a bunch today,” Marcus said, flipping through pictures of himself shoveling show, going down under the determined tackle of three small children, winding a scarf around his neck. There was one from that morning, weak sunlight edging through the curtains and highlighting himself on the bed.

It was also the first photo on the phone. Zhenya had gotten a new one after he came home last spring. Marcus hadn’t mentioned it, had been too grateful that Zhenya had come home at all, but he had noticed. His breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t look like that,” Zhenya scolded, taking his phone back. “They’re shitty phone pics, I should delete them all.” He wouldn’t meet Marcus’ eyes as he tossed the phone back on the coffee table.

It was hard to tell what the right move was, whether Marcus should push back or pull away, whether he should let Zhenya hide or shine light on a wound that had been healing for months. Marcus wanted Zhenya to talk to him, but he wanted Zhenya to want to talk to him more. He missed the way Zhenya would carelessly share his heart, but he was too grateful that Zhenya was still here to be careless himself.

“You can ask,” Zhenya finally said, as Marcus continued his silent debate. “I— maybe I will mind, but I want to tell you, too.”

_Oh, Zhenya,_ Marcus thought, helpless to do anything but reach meet Zhenya’ bravery with his own. “Why today?”

Zhenya visibly startled, as though he hadn’t actually expected Marcus to ask. Maybe Marcus had been too careful, this last year. “The last time I saw snow was Syria. It wasn’t… beautiful. I wanted to remember that it was beautiful.”

Marcus leaned into Zhenya’s side. “It is beautiful.”

Zhenya wrapped an arm around Marcus’ shoulders. “I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to come home.”

Marcus turned his head so he could kiss Zhenya’s pulse. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t mind waiting.”

Zhenya shifted to kiss him deep and sweet. Marcus shuddered, and this time he heard the click of Zhenya’s phone camera. 

“Last one,” Zhenya said, and resumed kissing him.

“Better not be,” Marcus whispered, kiss drunk and not at all tired.

“Ok,” Zhenya promised.

“Come upstairs with me?” Marcus asked between kisses, and took Zhenya back to bed.

**end.**


End file.
